To Love a Veela
by 0-SlytherinGurl-0
Summary: Draco is a Veela, and Harry is his chosen mate, but they soon find out that marriage is not all fun and games. Veela!Draco, HPDM, slash, MPREG, Manipulative!Dumbledore.
1. The Veela

Chapter One

* * *

The day was Saturday, a day for rest and a day for mischief. Harry liked Saturday, and yet he was still irritated. See, instead of flying his broom around the pitch or watching Ron attempt to stuff three muffins in his mouth — a feat that Ron obstinately denies makes him a total pouf — Harry was forced to attend yet another meeting with the headmaster. Another, as in the sixth this year. Instead of all the fun and/or useful things that he could have been doing, Harry spent the bulk of his weekends as of late watching the complete and unabridged life story of Tom 'I have daddy issues' Riddle. Thus far, Harry had no clue how any of these so-called 'lessons' could help, but Dumbledore was pretty adamant that there were 'important' things in the memories that he believed would help in the war effort.

Secretly, Harry was convinced that the old coot already knew every one of the memories back and forth, and that everything of importance could easily be summarized into a single lesson, but Dumbledore chose to drag the whole thing on just to be as obtuse as physically possible.

Reluctantly, Harry gathered the resolve to drag himself to another totally awesome (translation: boring as hell) evening alone the headmaster, or rather, he had thought that they would be alone. When he opened the door, there was the headmaster of course, but then there were teachers (McGonagall, and Snape), students (Ron, Hermione, and strangely enough, Draco), and to top off the unusual gathering of people, there were some parents (Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy).

So much for alone.

Most importantly, why the hell were the Malfoys there? Shouldn't Lucius have been in prison? Harry voiced his concerns: "What the _fuck!_ You're supposed to be in Azkaban!"

Harry drew his wand and dove behind one of the headmaster's fluffy chairs. He stayed behind there for a time, but when no response came, he carefully peeked his head over the edge of the chair.

Everyone stared back at him. Lucius quirked up an eyebrow, and the headmaster appeared to be hiding in a smile.

Sheepishly, Harry got back to his feet and walked back to where he stood not fifteen seconds before. "What's, uh… Going on?" he asked looking around to all the faces in the group before looking at the head of house Malfoy. "What are _you_ doing here? You're supposed to be getting gang-raped in the showers."

The headmaster let out a chuckle, but Lucius did not look amused. "I feel we have started this on the wrong foot," Dumbledore said as he lent back on his chair, calmly sucking on a lemon drop. "Let's try this again. Harry, I've called you up here for most a wonderful and joyous occasion."

"Eh, what?" Harry asked.

"Congratulations Harry!" Hermione blurted out.

"For… what exactly?"

"Harry," the headmaster continued, "You are here today for a most wondrous, stupendous, and magical occasion!"

Ooo-kay. Harry was in no mood for this. It was Saturday, his favorite day of the week, and he had no time for any of this guessing game bullshit. "How about you tell me what this occasion _is_ and I'll tell you how 'wonderous' it really is."

"You're getting married!" Ron shouted, unable to contain his excitement.

"Ron, you're an idiot," Harry snapped at his ginger friend. "Shut up." He turned back to the headmaster. "What's really going on?"

"Well, as your great friend Ronald has said, you are to be wed." Dumbledore smiled. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Harry stood there for a good thirty seconds trying to wrap his head around the absurdity of the previous minute. Nothing was doing. "Um, okay. Let's start over," he said. "I walked in, saw a known and convicted felon in your office and dove to safety." He pointed to the elder Malfoy. "That hasn't been resolved yet, why would he need to be here." He paused for a moment. "And why the _hell_ am I getting married?"

"He's here to take Draco down the aisle, Harry!" Hermione shouted, jumping up and down in excitement.

This was odd. Harry discretely pinched himself to be sure if he was awake and when he didn't find himself alone in his bed he was immensely disappointed. "Hermione, when exactly did you turn into some wedding obsessed freak, and—wait, what does Draco have to do with anything?" Harry had a sneaking suspicion, but it just couldn't be…

"Welcome to the family dear," Narcissa said before wrapping her arms around him. Harry, stunned for a moment, did nothing to extricate himself from her embrace. That is, until he finally wrapped his mind around what was happening to him.

He pushed her away with both hands, surreptitiously copping a feel in the process (Narcissa was a cougar, rawr!), and pointed at Dumbledore. "You," he said, "want me to marry," Harry paused, pointed at the ponce, and elevated his voice to a shout, "_Draco_?" He put a palm to his face and groaned loudly. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?"

"Now, now, Harry," the headmaster said in soothing tones, "Draco Malfoy is a fine match."

Harry stared dumbly at the man he (mildly) respected just a few minutes previous and tried to imagine how the man could have possibly come to that conclusion. For not the first time that evening, Harry's mind failed him. "_How?_" he finally asked. "How is Draco _possibly _a match for me? I'm strai—"

The man quickly interrupted him. "Draco, has come into his magical inheritance, and to all of our surprises." He paused dramatically for effect. "Draco is a Veela."

Harry paused, not for dramatic effect, but to try to think how Draco being a Veela could have anything to do with anything. Harry's mind chose that moment to remain blank, but he knew he had to say something, so he asked, "…And?"

"He's picked you as his mate! Isn't that wonderful!"

That's it? That's his justification for this farce? Harry felt the need to be the voice of reason. "No, it bloody well isn't!" Harry shouted, "What's _wrong_ with you people!" Harry started backing away from everyone in the direction of the door for fear of catching their crazy mind-altering disease (or for fear of turning his back and getting butt-fucked).

"You don't approve? Typical!" the potions master spat. "Nothing's good enough for _Potter_!"

Harry threw his arms into the air and shouted, "I'm not ga—"

Dumbledore interrupted him, again. "Be that as it may, as your magical guardian, I have chosen to join your two families in holy matrimony." More like **un**holy. He got to his feet and walked towards Harry. "With the Malfoys on our side, the war effort will be much easier for the light." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's for the greater good you see…"

Harry pushed the hand away and staggered back another few feet. "You're forcing me, _against my will_, to marry _Draco Malfoy_?"

The headmaster took another step forwards repeating, "—greater good…"

Harry decided it was well within his rights to protest. "Shut up! I'm not doing it!

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice…" he said with a steely voice. "You _will_ do this."

"NO!" he shouted as he pointed his wand at the senile old man.

Albus seemed unafraid. "You will," he said, "and you will give birth to an heir within the first year of marriage."

Harry stood there with his mouth practically hanging down to the floor, and was so shocked that he lowered his wand. "Give… birth?" He said the words as if he'd never heard them before in his life. He vigorously shook his head. "I'm not a woman!" Harry was at his wit's end. "How the _fuck_ is that supposed to work!"

"The Veela magic makes it all possible," Draco said, sliding up next to Harry. He put a hand around Harry's waist and pulled him close.

Harry did _not_ like this, and did what was his first instinct. He socked Malfoy in the face. "Hands _off_ you freak of nature!" Harry shouted.

Everyone gasped, and Draco struggled to get back on his feet.

"Harry, don't be so _racist_!" Hermione said in outrage.

"Racist?" Harry asked. "He can make other guys pregnant," he said heatedly, pointing a finger at his downed 'fiancée', "he _is_ a freak!"

"Now now, Harry," the headmaster said again with the calming voice, "getting buggered is not that uncomfortable a thing." Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "In fact you might just learn to like it." He looked pensive and rubbed his chin. "Why, in my youth…"

"I'll stop you _right_ there, and save us all years and years of costly therapy."

Dumbledore paid Harry's wish to avoid therapy no mind and carried on. "Ah Gellert… You were a stallion…"

"I did _not_ just hear that," Harry groaned. "So there's no way out of this? I _have_ to do this?"

"Yes Harry, and don't sound so depressed about it. This is a great thing after all! Why, now you don't have to marry an icky girl!" He creepily leered at Draco. "Why, if I were a hundred years younger, I'd be all over that tight ass of his!" He punctuated this by smacking Draco on the ass.

"Eww… Stop talking please." He shook his head. "Anyways, I am not buggering, nor getting buggered by Draco. It's _not_ happening. I don't care what you say, if he _ever_ has his penis showing in my presence, I _cut it off_!"

Dumblodore looked at Snape for a moment. "Well, I suppose we could have you drink a potion to get you pregnant…"

"Would this potion have Draco's swimmers in it?" Harry asked.

"Of course!" the headmaster cheered.

"No. _God_ no. I will not be slurping down Draco's man mustard. _Not_ happening."

"Why must you be so _difficult_!" The potions master screamed.

"Fuck _off_ you fucking _freak_," Harry said, "die in a fire."

"One **BILLION** points from Gryffindor!" he shouted.

Harry dropped his head into his palm and let out a loud sigh.

"Harry, you _must_ do this. It's for the greater good," the headmaster repeated for what must have been the millionth time. "With this marriage, the Death Eaters will be dealt a fierce blow! Lucius has graciously agreed to shift the control of the family estate to the two of you. _Finally_ the Malfoy finances will be in the hands of the light!"

Harry was _extremely_ interested in this new piece of information, but kept his cool. He turned to Draco. "So… I guess we're getting married."

* * *

By the end of the day, Harry and Draco were already married. In a showing of graciousness, Dumbledore gave them the next week off in order to _christen_ their marriage properly. When he announced this news, he did so while gyrating his hips and giving a thumbs up, and the old man scared a large portion (read: ALL) of the student population.

A third year Hufflepuff vomited.

* * *

The newlyweds sat on their marital bed in the master bedroom of the Malfoy manor. Draco was trying to strike up a conversation with his new husband, while Harry was looking at everything in the room but the naked body beside him. "Harryyyy! Let's fuuuuuck!" Draco whined.

Harry looked at the oak bookcase. Must have been expensive.

"Come onnn!" he continued. "I'll even let you be the boy on the first go!"

Harry looked at the window.

Draco took Harry's silence as a yes. "I'll go get the lube."

Harry looked at the ticking clock on the other side of the room. It was past midnight; at last, the marriage contract was finalized. He grabbed his wand off the bedside table and cast a stunning spell at his 'husband'.

Harry had some work to do.

* * *

The next day, Harry calmly walked into the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore was sharing a joke with the sorting hat, and so didn't immediately notice Harry's entrance. "'…a hell of an act, what do you call it?' And the father says, 'The Aristocrats!'" Dumbledore shouted the punch line loudly.

Both Albus and the hat laughed uproariously. "My word Albus, those vaudevillian buffoons have nothing on you!" the hat said between dying chuckles. The hat spotted Harry and smiled. "Harry! You simply _must_ hear Albus tell this joke, it's hilarious!"

Albus looked surprised and turned to the new… bride. "Harry, my boy! How was the honeymoon? Did you try the Dutch rudder?" He did something with his hand that Harry did not want to see. "That's a favorite of mine if you'd like to know."

Harry did in fact _not_ like to know.

"No Dutch rudder, I'm afraid."

"Oh, maybe next time!"

Harry smiled. "Sorry, there won't be a next time."

"Don't say that!" the old man shouted. "You two will have a nice, long lifetime together. Till death do you part."

Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that…"

The headmaster was not listening, but was instead reading the Prophet. "The Malfoys are dead!"

"Yep."

"It says here in the Prophet that they all died last night!"

"Yep."

"Oh no! That's terrible! Harry my boy, is this true? What happened?"

"They fell down a flight of stairs."

"They what?"

"Fell down the stairs."

"Oh my!" he exclaimed. "What a way to go! Where were you when this took place?"

"At the top of the stairs."

"Goodness! Why, to watch your beloved husband die like that; it breaks my heart to imagine how you must feel, Harry."

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Eh, I'm okay."

"What! Surely not?"

"Nah, wasn't very attached to the guy to start with."

"But your own husband?"

"I'm more annoyed than anything."

"Annoyed?" Dumbledore couldn't comprehend this kind of apathy. "Why?"

"Draco had to fall forty seven fucking times before he finally kicked the bucket." Harry rolled his eyes. "About forty six times too many in my book."

There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Harry," he said as he motioned to the chair opposite his desk, "I know you're grieving, but I feel I must ask you a question."

Harry sat down on the chair across from him. "Shoot," He said before throwing a Lemon drop in his mouth.

"Did you kill them?" Dumbledore asked gravely.

"No. How could I have?" Harry said as he folded his hands in his lap. "See, I was here with you at the time."

"Right." Dumbledore let out a breathe he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, I was here with you." Harry looked him in the eye. "The prophesized savior of the world can't go to jail, so I must have been here, _right_?"

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Right. My mistake."

Harry leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and rested his feet on the headmaster's desk. "It can happen."

There was a peaceful silence in the room for over a minute while the two of them thought about the ramifications of this. Albus quickly grew tired of thinking. "Damn it Harry, why couldn't you have just gone with the flow? I had your best interests at heart!"

"No, I'm good."

The headmaster slammed a fist against his desk. "Bro! I was just trying to get you laid!"

"Don't do that again, okay?"

"Fine! Go on! Have sex with girls! See if I care! They're all icky and curvy and stuff…"

Harry flattened his pants down and stood up. "Okay, you're clearly insane; I'll be going now." He started walking for the door.

"But, where to, Harry?"

Harry turned back. "Gringotts," he replied with a smile. "I'm going to go take a swan dive into my new vault of gold."

"Oh, right." He caught sight of his floppy hat friend and grinned. "Want to hear a joke before you go?" The hat straightened up at this and looked excited. Harry shrugged before nodding. "Alright, so this family walks into a talent agency…"

* * *

AN: Slash is stupid. Male Veelas are stupid. Mpreg is stupid on a level that I can't even comprehend. So, if you ever consider combining all three of these monumentally stupid ideas into one fail of a story, stop and think about the consequences: just to annoy you for annoying me, I might just keep writing, and no one wants that, right?

Read my blog! Link in my profile.


	2. The Succubus

Chapter Two

* * *

For the third time that week, Harry found himself on his way to the Headmaster's office. The last two meetings had not been great—especially the last meeting, which had featured the dirtiest joke, by far, Harry had heard in his entire life. In fact, there was a good chance that he could go the rest of his life hopping from the seediest bars to the raunchiest comedy clubs in the world and never hear a joke half as bad.

For clarity's sake, he didn't think it wasn't funny, but rather just disgusting is all.

Marriage and jokes aside, although that marriage was kind of a joke all by itself, it had been a good week for Harry. The first thing he had done with his new money was buy Ron's favorite Quiddich team, the Chudley Cannons. Ron was downright thrilled; his own best mate was owner of the best Quiddich franchise in existence! Hell, in his mind, Ron actually thought that he had a legitimate shot of making the roster. Of course, Harry then changed the team's name to the Chudley Centurions, cut everyone on the roster, sacked the coaching staff and fired everyone who was a part of the front office.

That terrible shade of orange was gone in a heartbeat, quickly changed to a dark red.

When he heard of the ownership change, Victor Krum was more than willing to join the team. Oliver Wood as well. The twins, while loving their shop, realized that few of their customers had a way of getting to Diagon Alley while at school (Hogwarts _was_ a boarding school after all), so they pledged to play on the team during the winter season and run their shop in the summer. Prank shops, much like fireworks shops (Oh! They sell them too!), are seasonal businesses.

With the four of them, Harry had a strong core nucleus for a team, and he imagined that Ludo Bagman would be ecstatic to coach a team and pay off his enormous debts. Also, with Harry graduating in a year or so, he was positive he could play at the professional level, even if he had to learn the chaser position.

Quiddich weekly in their 'power rankings' placed Chudley as the number three best team in the league, even _with_ the mostly untested status of their roster.

Therefore, unless Ronnikins changed his Quiddich position (which was unlikely as it was far too much work) he was without a job.

Not content with ruling the Quiddich world, Harry also bought the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, controlling interests in numerous major Wizards corporations, and half of the land in Diagon Alley. People were fearful of the future and were more than happy to sell their assets for rock-bottom prices in order to distance themselves from the war.

The way Harry saw it was that if he won the war he would make an incongruous profit selling his property to everyone flooding back into the country, and if he lost the war and died in the process, then why would he give a shit if he lost all that money? He'd be dead! And really, it's wasn't even his money to start with.

Ah, good times. Win, win. Well, unless he died, that sucks then.

Another contributing factor to it being a good week was the fact that Harry stumbled upon a cardinal rule for dealing with the ladies. See, as soon as everyone learned that Harry was the richest wizard in the world, well, bitches be crazy.

There's an old wizarding adage: Girls don't like boys, girls like brooms and money.

It was a cynical view to take, but as Harry constantly boasted to most everyone he talked to, he had not woken up alone since becoming absurdly rich, so yay.

Needless to say, Harry was a smidge annoyed that he needed to leave the company of the lovely Parvati Patil ("Come back to me; I'll keep your bed warm, but if you're not back soon, I just might start without you!") to meet the Headmaster, _again_.

Harry made his way to the door and rapped on the door while giving off an irritated huff.

"Come in!" He heard from the other side of the door. Harry did just that, and stood in front of his glorious leader.

"Yes?" he said while putting the most amount of distain he could into his voice.

Dumbledore was unaffected. "Come, come, sit, sit," he said, motioning to a giant fluffy chair.

Harry sat and waited for the man to start talking, but after a minute of silence he decided to initiate the conversation. "So, _why_ am I here?" Harry asked, "The last time I was called here I was forced against my will to marry a dude, and I'm not into that kind of thing." Harry made a show of crossing his fingers. "So, please no?"

The Headmaster laughed. "No Harry, you will not be marrying a 'dude', as it were, today." Harry motioned for him to carry on, so he did. "See, last time I made an erroneous assumption about your sexual preferences, and so I chose someone who was clearly outside your comfort zone."

"To say the _least,_" Harry muttered. "So again, why am I here?"

"I've found a new match! A better match!"

Harry groaned.

Dumbledore put up his hand to stop any forthcoming protests. "Now, now, I am still your guardian, so I still have some sway. At least listen this time?"

Harry was not the listening type at the moment. "Does my match have a penis?" he asked with all seriousness.

Dumbldore stopped to think for a moment. "Not that I know of," he replied.

"That's not very reassuring," Harry said while feeling a great deal of apprehension.

The old man carried on. "Well, I haven't checked for myself, because that would be weird—"

"Yes, that _would_ be weird."

"—but I very much doubt she has any dangly parts down there."

This piqued Harry's interest. "She? It's a girl this time?"

"Yes. You see, last time I envisioned for myself who amongst your peers I would have liked to have had sex with the most…"

"Ok, take back what I said earlier, _this_ is weird, and something you shouldn't be admitting out loud."

"Even, old men have needs, dear boy."

"Eww. Just, eww."

"Anyways, we clearly differ in our preferences. I myself like… Outies, while you like… Innines. Yes. That's a good analogy."

Harry said, "This conversation is so screwed up…" He grabbed a lemon drop off the headmaster's desk and started sucking on it.

"Indeed. So Harry, would you like to take a look at her?"

"Eh, why not. It can't get much worse than your last choice, right?"

It really, really could.

"Excellent! Severus, bring her in!"

A side door opened, and in walked Severus Snape with a look on his face that said that he wanted to be _anywhere_ but there.

Albus carried on, "For your viewing pleasure, I present: Miss Millicent Bulstrode!"

Harry choked on his lemon drop. Time moved in slow motion as she strode into the room, and she walked as if she owned the place. With each and every step she took her very… _curvaceous_… body jiggled.

All eyes were on her, well, except Harry's which were staring at the pool of vomit beside his chair. He let out a few more dry heaves before turning a hateful glare at his 'Guardian'. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? First Draco, and now _'her'_?

"Come now, Harry, she's a fine match!"

"_Draco_ is a better match!" he shouted.

"What, am I too much of a woman for you Harry?"

He looked at her to respond, and instantly wished he hadn't. "_Far_ too much of a woman! Why the hell would you _ever_ want to inflict that sight on the world? Where do they even _sell_ bikini's that big?"

Right, she was wearing a bikini, probably should have mentioned that. Not only was it a bikini, it was a _skimpy_ bikini. With a thong.

Dear _lord_.

Copious mounds of flesh seeped over the edges of the cloth, and the areas that remained completely uncovered (stomach, ass, face) were equally hideous.

"I don't have to take this kind of abuse!" she shrieked. As she stomped off from where she came, she gave everyone in the room another _wonderful_ show as her thumping feet made her juicy booty clap together.

Harry, for the first time in his life, actually wished to be obliviated. That, or he needed to get drunk and forget this ASAP.

There was silence for a time, but that was broken by Dumbledore. "A fine woman, Harry."

Harry sat there staring at the Headmaster.

"…How?" he asked in what was nearly a whisper. "How could you have possibly come to that conclusion? She is the direct opposite of what is fine!"

"Come now, she is the classical image of beauty!" he said while pointing at the spot she had once occupied. "The wide hips will be ideal for childbirth…"

Harry shuttered.

"No, the child would be at risk of suffocation between her hefty thighs. Also, no, eww."

"Really? In my teenage years girls of her stature were considered ideal. Strange how things change. Well, what about her other features?"

"Such as?"

"She had such _broad_ shoulders…"

"Like a man's?"

"Oh, my bad. What about her nearly bearded face?

"…Like a man's?

"Oh, shit. My bad. Okay, I'll find someone better next time! Promise!"

"No, I'm good Headmaster, _really_."

"Oh?"

"Oh yeah. Why, as a matter of fact I have a lovely lady waiting for me (or perhaps not…) to shag her senseless."

Albus looked almost sad at this.

"Harry Potter! One **TRILLION** points from Gryffindor!"

"…Why?"

"For, for… sex! James had sex, no sex!"

Harry looked at the headmaster. "Is sex not allowed here?"

"Not for you!" Snape cried.

Harry stood up and said, "Right, I'll be going now." He pointed at Snape. "You're crazy." He pointed at Dumbledore. "You too."

He left the room in search of some afternoon delight.

* * *

AN: It only took like three months, but I FINALLY re-wrote this. So many lulz.

I'll update this story... eventually.

Read my blog! Link in my profile.


	3. The Queen

Chapter Three

* * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, headmaster and resident matchmaker – although not in that order in his mind – at Hogwarts, the most prestigious school of magic in the world sat at his desk drumming his fingers on the solid oak in deep thought. A cup of piping hot tea and an assortment of pastries and biscuits sat on a plate to his left, tempting him with their deliciousness. Every now and then his trusty feathered companion would squawk in a vain attempt to gain his attention, but Albus was having none of it. No distractions today. See, when he thought, he thought hard.

But what exactly was he thinking about?

_Harry, why won't you just give in and let me find you a nice boy to settle down with?_

Important thoughts you see.

_With you, Harry, I just can't win. First I find you a dashing rich boy with stunningly beautiful hair and a tight young ass which you could almost certainly bounce a galleon off of. No dice. 'I'm not gay!' you say. Lies, I saw the way you two fought. Everyone knows that the more a pair fights the more sexual tension exists; much like your friends, the dimwitted redhead and the bookish boy. Those two are most definitely gay for each other. Hmm, perhaps I'll have a new project in those two once I'm done with you, young Harry?_

He took a break from him his deep, deep thoughts in order to dip a single sugary treat into his steaming beverage. _Such a pity. Stinking rich AND a veela. _He thought as he brought the confectionary to his lips and let out a loud sigh.

_Even when I relent and find you a handsome woman, you deny your primal instincts… Whatever shall I do with you, Harry?_

A fast and angry knocking from his door forced him from his melancholy thoughts and the sugary temptress between his fingers. He straightened his robes and vanished the remains of his 'meal' with a swish of his wand.

"Come in," he said in an authoritative tone.

With no delay, the door swung open and an irate potions master charged into the office with a huff, coming to an abrupt stop precisely two feet from the desk. Fawkes in his corner let out a noise that sounded eerily reminiscent of someone blowing raspberries and flew out the open window.

Silence reigned for a beat or two before Albus decided to break the ice. "You seem upset, Severus." Albus pointed to one of the chairs opposite his desk. "Sit, and stay a while."

The man shook his head vigorously and started to rant, just as he always did. "Something _must_ be done to curtail the actions of that increasingly insubordinate fool Potter!" He began to pace. "Every year it's something new! One year he fights a troll in my dungeons, in another he attempts to create a secret fan-club to gather all the students to his side!"

Dumbledore sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Really, Severus? Must we go over this _again_? I'm a busy man, and frankly this almost daily discussion is getting tedious."

The headmaster was ignored. "And now the sex! The arrogant ruffian is just like his father! Why, just yesterday I saw him walking into the great hall with Ms. Patil on one arm, and Ms. Brown on the other! The boy is out of con…"

Albus lost interest in Severus' daily rant, and decided to think of other things. _That man; it's always Potter this, and Potter that. He's obsessed. That there is a man who needs to get laid in the worst way possible._ Albus had a thought.

"…detention for the rest of the year!" he finished loudly.

While the dark haired man awaited his response, the elderly and perhaps senile headmaster thought at a mile a minute. _Yes, this is it! _"Severus," he began. "Are you still single perchance?"

It was practically a rhetorical question. Severus Snape, interact with other human beings in a sexual way? Preposterous.

The man was understandably confused and taken aback after the complete non sequitur. He took a moment to formulate his response. "Sir, have you been listening to a word I said?" he said at last, very irritably.

"Yes, yes. Harry is a bad boy. Just like his father. Needs to be spanked, blah, blah, detention, blah, blah," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "That is the gist?"

Severus nodded a couple of times before saying, "I suppose…"

"Excellent. Now, are you single, my boy?"

He nodded again, slowly.

"Good, good." Albus continued. "That will be all." He pointed to the door. "Off you trot."

Severus stood still, nonplussed.

"Shoo." Albus made a sweeping motion with his hand. "Shoo, I say."

He shrugged before he glided out the door without looking back.

* * *

Albus thought long and hard about how he would get his less than attractive colleague laid. He was no fool, and he had no illusions about the difficulty of his task; Severus Snape was not a handsome man. Even Albus, an elderly gay man with little to no prospects of his own to speak of, strained to find any redeeming factors in his unpleasant and unattractive spy. Every plus was offset by a crippling negative. Sure, Severus was tall, but he slouched, had an unsightly nose and his personal hygiene left much to be desired. He had a brilliant mind, but also a cutting wit and an abusive tongue which he routinely used to berate others. How he ever convinced himself that he had a shot with Lily Evans was mindboggling to the headmaster. Lily Evans was a ten, and Severus Snape did his level best to drive home the point that negative numbers should be permitted when describing a person's attractiveness. Hell, even he, Albus the queer (as Grindlewald once called him, to the brokenhearted teen's eternal shame) grudgingly admitted that he wouldn't have tossed her out of bed.

In essence, Severus Snape was unshaggable.

Coming to that revelation, Albus decided not to limit his search of a suitor by gender nor would he rule out any other 'undesirable' subgroups such as the elderly, grossly obese, amputees, or what have you. Severus had no right to be picky. Beggars and choosers and all that rot. Finding him a human mate would be hard enough—that's where he drew the line, by the way. Unlike his brother Abe, Albus would never condone the practice of bestiality, regardless of how 'horny' or 'raunchy' looking a goat may appear.

Hopeless as the quest was, he still had a plan, and in his aged mind it was a good plan too. As he casually strolled through Diagon Alley, he slowly pulled a picture out of his pocket and raised it to the first person he saw. In this case, it was a middle-aged witch with a handful of bags in her arms. "Excuse me miss," he said as he thrust the photo of Severus towards her face. "Would you be interested in having sexual intercourse with this man?"

She shrieked and threw her arms into the air, consequentially spewing the contents of her bags across the crowded street.

Taking that as a no, Albus moved on to his next victim just a few paces down the way. "Excuse me sir, would you like to have intercourse with this man? I assure you he's a real feisty one in the sack." He waggled his eyebrows. "And I hear he's in desperate need of a good shagging."

Albus narrowly dodged a curse.

* * *

"I'm sure you're wondering why you've been summoned here, my boy."

"Not really sir," he said calmly. "If there is anything I've learned working for you as long as l have, then it is to just roll with it when you ask for strange things." He looked at a wall-mounted clock. "Even at three in the morning."

Albus craned his neck to see the clock. "Is it really?"

"Yes."

"Right," he said offhandedly, "I've called you here today for a most wondrous and stupendous occasion."

The potion master's eyes bugged out for a moment before he mumbled quietly, "Oh shit."

"I have searched far and wide for someone to bed you—"

Severus interrupted him quickly. "Look, I'm going to tell you the same thing I told You-know-who. It doesn't matter if she's dead, alive, awake, unconscious, drugged, or under the imperious; no woman will ever willingly have sex with me, and I will never succumb to any of my lustful desires and rape a woman." Hearing that statement from any other person would seem incredibly strange, but really, Severus Snape was a special case.

"Bitter?" the old man asked.

"No, no. I came to terms with the fact that the only woman who would have ever considered having sex with me was dead and buried years ago."

"Quite right," Albus responded while rolling his eyes at the reference to the man's absurd Lily Evans fantasy. "And I found the very same to be true when I flashed a picture of you around Diagon Alley and muggle London. Four hours of searching and not a single taker."

Severus sighed loudly.

The headmaster carried on, "By the way Severus, did you know that muggles have these places called 'gay bars' where any old person can just enter a toilet and indulge in the pleasures of oral sex through a fascinating device called a 'glory hole'?"

"No."

"It's a novel concept, Severus, you must try it some time. Even those like yourself may find hope in such a place. You see, the other person never actually gazes upon your face because of this hole in the wall through which you insert your pe—"

"That's quite alright Albus," he said quickly.

"We'll discuss it later."

"I'd prefer if we didn't"

"To each his own. Anyways, after my many hours of searching and just moments after I swallowed my third salty load, I came to an obvious conclusion."

"And what was that?" he asked dryly, trying to erase the mental image the last statement brought forth. He also needed to erase the terrible joke floating around his mind which went something like, '_Swallowing three loads? I suppose the headmaster truly __**is**__ a master of head!'_ Cue drum roll.

"If you want something done right, Severus, you best do it yourself." The headmaster started unbuttoning his robe. Severus was speechless as the robe dropped to reveal over a hundred years worth of wrinkles. "If you'd like, I could even use polyjuice to help things along." He reached for a vial on his desk. "I even managed to track down a lock of hair from your teenage crush Lily Evans…"

Severus gulped audibly. He looked at the headmaster for a good minute before turning his gaze to the vial of polyjuice in the man's age weathered hand. His eyes flicked back and forth for a moment before he made his decision. He slowly walked forwards and said in a husky voice, "Lily, I've been waiting on this day for so long…"

* * *

Sitting comfortably on his perch, Fawkes awoke from his peaceful slumber to hushed voices, low moans and to the terrifying and horrific visual unfolding before his very eyes. He screeched at an eardrum ripping volume as he flew at the closed window with great acceleration, shattering the glass pane on impact.

* * *

**AN**: Look at that, I even managed to sneak in some slash for the fan girls! Although, it wasn't the superhot HP/DM you were hoping for, was it? Shame, shame, shame.

I feel sick inside having written that. So icky...

Read my blog! Link in my profile!


	4. The Prince

Chapter Four

* * *

Done with their unholy deeds for the time being, the two lovers lay contentedly in each other's arms. The whirrs, ticks and hisses of the myriad magical trinkets filling the shelves and tables in the room were the only audible sounds aside Albus and Severus' deep breaths.

Suffice to say they were completely and utterly alone—

"That was some fucked up shit," said a disgusted voice from directly behind them.

—Or not.

Albus (still looking like a busty, twenty year old Lily Evans) and Severus jumped to their feet in shock. When Albus jumped however, his enormous breasts did as well. Everyone in the room watched, mesmerized as two perfectly formed breasts bounced freely, the very way god intended. All eyes, even the gay man's, were transfixed as the supple, yet perky bosoms did their dance. Sadly, as the seconds passed they slowly lost their momentum and came to an eventual and regretful stop. Disappointed at the show's end, Severus ran a hand up his/her firmly toned chest before tapping the breast and provoking an encore.

"Boobs," Severus muttered reverently.

"Boobs," the other two chorused in a worshipful monotone (you know, the type of sound cultists, like those in the catholic church, make during one of their unholy gatherings)

The fun stopped once more, but this time not because of the cessation of the jiggling, but because the polyjuice potion wore out and everyone was left staring at Dumbledore's sagging man boobs and his rock hard… Ehhh…

With the spell broken and the moment lost, the mysterious interloper decided to make himself known once again. "Men," the sorting hat said. "If I can still call you that…" If a hat could shake it's head, that would be the best way describe what the hat was doing. "I have seen some messed up, repugnant shit in my time here in this office…" He trailed off for a moment to gather his thoughts. "But nothing, and I mean _nothing_, I've seen can even remotely compare to this… this… abomination."

Albus opened him mouth to speak but the hat cut him off. "Did I sound like I was finished? Not even fucking close man. Not even fucking close. Gryffindor? That sick fuck liked to shave his pubes and transfigure them into a wig. A wig, I might add, he regularly wore around the school. That fucker was straight up mentally ill, but even _he_ didn't do something this fucking sick."

Albus looked to the floor.

The hat's eyes accidentally drifted downward for a moment with Albus' gaze and he instantly regretted it. "Oh for Merlin's sake! Would you cover up?"

That got his attention. Albus quickly used his hands to cover his wrinkled manhood.

The hat sighed. "That ugly fucker over there I can understand. You presented him with the chance to play out a fantasy he's probably run though his head a million times. Shit, I bet the poor bloke has wanked to that fantasy every night for the past twenty years, and with the show you two just put on, I bet he wanks to this for the rest of his life!" He pointed with the tip of his hat at the potions master who was slowly nodding. "That poor bastard was like a starving dog, and you offered him a bloody pot roast. I can see why he went through with this, but you? You're like the fucking devil, man!"

"I have needs—"

"Don't you even _try_ to talk your way out of this, Albus; you took advantage of that poor man's sickness to get your ass railed like it was 1952 all over again! I mean, shit, man. Let's just get this straight: A closeted gay male professor, who is almost as old as Merlin himself, polyjuices himself to look like a twenty-year-old dead girl and pops the cherry of another professor (a straight one I might add) who has had unrealistic fantasies towards the aforementioned dead girl since before he even learned how to play with his dick. Did I miss anything? You can't even make this kind of shit up!"

…Or can you?

The room was quiet for a moment before the hat said at a near whisper, "And you didn't even let me join in…" A single tear flowed down the aged leather hat's face.

* * *

Time passed, as it always did, and after a two week long passionate, polyjuice-sex-filled love affair, Albus and Severus mutually agreed after a brief period to end their squalid relationship. Okay, not _exactly _mutually. Severus ended it because Albus ran out of Lily's hair.

Details, who needs them?

Strangely enough though, over time Albus began to feel sick to his stomach given his role in the whole thing. In his mind, he entered into the relationship with the best of intentions, but in the end, he just felt ill. So ill, in fact, that he regularly became nauseous and vomited often. For a time he couldn't even hold down a meal.

When Pomphrey learned of this, she ordered the headmaster off to bed, but in the infirmary his condition only worsened. Every morning he vomited and he lost weight quickly and grew dehydrated. Eventually, Albus concluded that it was not guilt or depression that was causing his illness (a logical conclusion), but something far more dire. Running out of options, Albus asked the nurse to bring the school's Potions / Dark Arts master, and his former lover, to his side.

"Could it be the curse from the ring, Severus?" he asked in a quiet voice. Not a moment later, he rushed to shift his weight to the side of the bed and loudly heaved into a large bowl. Nothing happened after a full minute of torture, and thankfully, the dry-heaves died down.

Severus graciously made no mention the previous display, and with concern asked, "Albus, do you really think this is because of the ring?" He shook his head. "Do you feel I was wrong in my initial assessment?"

"I do not know, Severus," he rasped after wiping his mouth with a damp cloth. "All I do know is that I am not getting any healthier."

"Could it have been something you ate?" he asked with little hope of a positive response.

"No, this has gone on far too long for it to be simple food poisoning. Also, I only eat food prepared in the Hogwarts kitchens," He replied, "Why wouldn't anyone else be sick?" He righted his position on the bed before finishing his thought. "No, it simply cannot be food poisoning."

The potions master shook his head once again. "But I was so _sure_ that you would have had at least until the end of the school year…" he said in a lost and confused tone.

He laid a hand on the dark haired man's arm. "I'm old Severus, perhaps it's just my time?"

"Perhaps…" the pathetic greasy bat trailed off.

"You're both wrong," said a soft voice from the foot of the bed. "Our dear headmaster is nowhere near death's door."

"What?" Albus asked as he looked away from his ex-lover to the source of the voice, one Madame Pomphrey. "Surely you jest Madame. Never have I felt worse In my entire life."

"Pregnancy will do that do you." She said, patting him on the leg before picking up his chart. "You're about ten weeks in or so, from what I can tell." She flipped through his chart. "I'll need to run a few tests to be sure of the date, but from the looks of it, you're going to be a father Albus. Why, I never thought I'd ever see the day." She flashed him a warm smile. "Congratulations." She walked away briskly, leaving the two expectant fathers alone.

There was a… pregnant… pause.

Mortified, Albus and Severus looked at each other. At exactly the same time, they both said just one word:

"_**Fuck**__._"

* * *

A/N: You want MPREG? I'LL _GIVE_ YOU MPREG! THIS IS WHAT YOU GET! THIS!

BWAHAHAHAHA! *cough*

Oh yeah, read my blog. Link in the profile.


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